


The Sign of the Dove

by bottledspirits



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:45:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledspirits/pseuds/bottledspirits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rumpelstiltskin tries to reorder time and space, unexpected complications arise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sign of the Dove

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote fluff again. Marchie, this is your doing.

Potion making was delicate work. It required a steady hand and a discerning eye to get things just right. The components could be volatile; the most valuable spells were the deadliest, if done wrong.

Rumpelstiltskin was well aware of this. He took more care in his spells than anyone else in the land. It was why he had the fewest…accidents.

Today he was crafting an elixir with the power to move time itself. At least, that’s what he hoped it would do. He wasn’t sure. There wasn’t much reference material for this sort of thing. Most wizards who meddled with time seldom had much chance to discuss it afterward.

His efforts consisted of a heap of sand, dirt, and leaves at the bottom of a glass vial. It never looked like much until it was done, and even then appearances could be deceiving. That was the way of magic.

The spell was ready for the final touch. In a jar on the shelf was a single dry, gnarled twig. It came from an herb that was said to grow only in the marshes of the will ‘o the wisp. He didn’t know if that was true, but Rumpelstiltskin had certainly had trouble with the little demon when it took to following him around on his search.

Hopefully it would know better now that he’d stomped it into the ground. With any luck it would be stuck there for a while.

Rumpelstiltskin took up his tweezers and gently lowered the sprig into the glass. It came to rest against the other ingredients with a little  _tink_  as it touched the side of the vial. He slowly let out a breath.

It hadn’t exploded. That was a start.

He held up the vial to examine it. As he watched, a shimmering purple haze rose in the glass. Rumpelstiltskin grinned. The magic was doing its work.

The potion changed from dry sand and twigs to a flickering, sputtering purple liquid that moved of its own volition. It was very much alive. He knew it would make a good potion.

He was just about to set the mixture on the shelf when there came a strange hissing sound from within the glass. The wizard glanced at the vial and saw that a yellow glow was building at the bottom. The rest of the potion was spilling up the side of the glass, as if trying to get away, and little curls of smoke were beginning to spiral out of the opening in the top.

Rumpelstiltskin raised the vial to his face for a closer look and flinched when he heard the sound of cracking glass.

The potion burst with a soft  _poof!_  and his eyes were filled with smoke.

He coughed, waving a hand in front of his face. Clouds of purple and yellow dispersed around it.

“Too much vervain, I think,” Rumpelstiltskin muttered. He pocketed the remains of the spell and looked about to get his bearings.

Around him was silent, yet he could feel a presence nearby – several of them, in fact. As the smoke cleared he ventured a glance around what should have been his workshop and saw that he was in no place of the kind. It was a dank, dingy sort of place. The ceiling was low and the wooden beams that held it up were placed at regular, awkward intervals that made for a cramped space.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat and spirits. From the way his foot stuck to the floor as he turned around, there was no doubt the cobbles had seen their fair share of them, too.

Definitely not his tower. A tavern, and a cheap one, from the looks of it.He’d sent himself off to gods knew where, or when. The potion made things tricky.

The patrons were staring at him. They all had the same boggle-eyed look, some gawping over their drinks, others craning to see him over their shoulders or around their companions.

He could just blush.

“Well?” Rumpelstiltskin called, making sure he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. He used the same high, sing-song tone that he employed in his deals. “The night is young. Better get to it.”

A few people looked away, and the rest followed as he passed his wide, dark eyes over the room. Murmurs of conversation arose once more. He wouldn’t have been surprised if some of it was about him.

“It’s not every day they get to see something like that,” a voice said behind him.

Rumpelstiltskin turned at the sound. He had thought himself to be in an unoccupied corner of the bar, but there was a single table behind him. Its lone occupant was a chestnut-haired girl with a pair of bright blue eyes that were trained on him as strongly as his were on her. She had a mug on the table between her pale hands. It was mostly untouched.

She was probably in her twenties, if he had to guess, which may have explained her boldness. Youth could be like that. But there was something in the way she watched him, the unwavering look in her eyes accompanied by the impish turn of her mouth, that suggested this was someone who was not easily intimidated.

It would be fun to try.

“Something like what, dearie?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, turning his full attention on her as the corners of his mouth twisted into a grin.

He was used to people being uncomfortable under his stare, but she only smiled at him like they were sharing some private joke.

“ _You_ ,” the woman said. The emphasis she placed on the word brought his attention to her accent. Strange, but not unpleasant. He’d never heard anything quite like it.

But she had just referred to him as a “thing”, and that wasn’t a thing to take lightly.

“And what am I, dearie?” he crooned, leaning forward ever so slightly to level his eyes with hers.

She pursed her lips as if trying to stop her face from breaking into a grin. He raised an eyebrow, which only made it worse. The girl glanced away and let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a giggle before turning her face back to his. Her eyes were sparkling.

“You’re a wizard, aren’t you?” she asked. There was awe in her expression, and excitement, but not the slightest trace of fear.

He was a little surprised. He had expected “lizard man” or “dragon hide” or any number of the usual slurs that the brave or stupid chose to level at him. Instead, she seemed fascinated.

Rumpelstiltskin bowed, drawing back so far as to make the gesture absurd. This time the girl did laugh, and he grinned at the sound. He rose and looked back at the girl with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“What’s it to you?” Rumpelstiltskin asked puckishly.

The girl got up from the table, unaware of the attention they were drawing from the rest of the room, and made a curtsy. He couldn’t help the awkward flutter that arose in his stomach as she did so. Had he ever had a conversation like this?

She curtsied very prettily, and as she drew herself up again she glanced at him through her eyelashes. His heart pounded so loudly for a second that he was afraid someone might hear.

“I’ve never met a wizard before,” the woman said as she sat down. She gestured at the table and cast a hesitant glance his way. “Would you like to…?”

It was all the invitation he needed.

“So let me guess…” Rumpelstiltskin began grandly as he swept into the seat opposite her, crossing his legs and bringing his hands to rest on his knees, his fingers steepled.

He brought his gaze on her and took in the details: her confident bearing, the healthy glow of her features, the well-made clothes that seemed to fit her like a glove. She was obviously well looked after, and that spoke of a good upbringing. So what was she doing in some backwater tavern like this?

She watched him as he watched her. Her eyes flitted from his face, his clothes, and back again. There was curiosity in her face. She didn’t appear to be someone accustomed to fear.

He aimed one long finger at her and said, “You’re looking for someone?”

The girl gave him a quizzical look, so he went on.

“A princess in disguise on the hunt for her lost prince?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, cocking his head as he spoke. He had the air of someone in the midst of their favorite game.

She wrinkled her brow at that, and her expression was so oddly endearing that he momentarily lost his train of thought. But the game was on. No one approached a wizard without a deal in mind.

“A princess on the run from a jealous mother figure?” he tried.

She only blinked as if he’d said something crazy. Clearly he was off the mark.

“Your kingdom has fallen and you’re looking to restore your throne?” Rumpelstiltskin guessed wildly, fanning his fingers theatrically. He leaned forward in his chair and sat still as a stone as he waited for her answer.

She stared at him for a moment. Then she looked down at the table and let out a bright, merry laugh that seemed to sink into him like nothing else. It had been a long time since someone had laughed that way in front of him.

He risked a look around the bar and noticed a few people staring. They all looked away quickly when they met his gaze. Rumpelstiltskin looked back at the girl as she sat up and wiped her eyes.

“You might give me a hint,” he said lamely.

The girl set the handkerchief she had used on her eyes on the table and looked at him, beaming as she spoke.

“I’m not a princess,” she said.

He blinked at her.

“You’re not?” Rumpelstilstkin said. He could feel a blush creeping over his face.

The girl shook her head, curls bouncing. She was still smiling at him. Rumpelstiltskin found himself admiring her cheekbones.

“Ah…” he said, looking away. He twirled his fingers for a moment as if in deep thought before turning to say, “But you’re in some sort of distress?”

She shook her head again, frowning.

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“I’m a wizard, dearie,” he said, as if it should be obvious. “The people who approach me are usually in some kind of trouble.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. It was plain to see in her face that she had not even thought of asking for his help.

She looked at the table and silence swept over them. He wasn’t sure how to fill it.

“I didn’t ask you to sit here so I could ask your help. I…” she said hesitantly.

“Yes?” he asked.

The woman looked straight into his eyes, her own alight in a kind of wonder. She licked her lips, evidently a nervous habit, and gave an anxious smile smile.

“I’m sure that a wizard must have many things to talk about,” she said.

She was leaning on the table, watching him expectantly. Rumpelstiltskin found himself at a loss. She hadn’t asked him to sit down with the intention of asking for his help. Did she really want nothing more than to listen to him speak?

“I…” he faltered. He had never considered himself that interesting, for all that he pretended to be. Most people wanted smoke and mirrors. Part of his trade was magic; the rest was mystique.

He looked around, as if inspiration might come from something around them. When it did not, he turned to the woman watching him from across the table.

“What would you like to hear about?” he asked, a softness in his voice that might have startled him, had he not been paying such close attention to her.

Her face lit up.

“Oh, anything,” she breathed. When he only stared, she spent a moment lost in thought, staring at a ring on the table. She spoke again, in a hushed whisper, as one might say a prayer, “People you’ve met, places you’ve seen…”

There was such a longing in her voice that he found himself unable to interrupt. He inched closer to the table so he wouldn’t miss a word she said.

“Is there anything in the world that…took your breath away?” she asked, looking up at him suddenly.

There certainly was. He stared at her, gaping like a fish. She was watching him, expecting an answer, and he couldn’t tear himself away from those bright eyes.

He tried to think of something, anything that might amuse her. But all that came to mind was the tower he had been working in. Dusty, dim, and boring. And cold. It was always cold. He left the window open, never knowing when something might go awry as it had done today, and the whole tower quickly grew chill from the breeze coming off the –

“Have you ever seen the Northern Mountains?” Rumpelstiltskin said, clinging to the first idea that struck him.

The woman shook her head, attention rapt.

“They stretch all the way from the eastern sea to the very northern edge of the kingdoms,” he explained, fanning his hands over the table to indicate the scale. She watched with fascination. Encouraged, Rumpelstiltskin leaned over the table to whisper wickedly, “They say a beast lives there.”

 “Do they really?” she asked, beaming.  She clearly wasn’t scared off by that idea alone.

“Oh, yes,” he said, nodding. “You should meet him someday.”

There was something about the way he said it, and the look on his face, that made her laugh. She ducked her head to look into her lap as she did, and he took the moment to enjoy the way her whole face seemed to move when she smiled. If he knew how, he’d sit there all day and make her laugh.

“You should see it someday,” Rumpelstiltskin said.

She met his gaze and opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden shyness overcame her and she looked away again. He was intrigued.

“What is it?” Rumpelstilstkin asked, frowning. He leaned forward so that he could see her face. She glanced at him and showed him a smile that was unlike any other he had seen on her. It was…sad.

“That might be a bit hard,” she confessed.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” she said quietly.

He frowned. It was the first time in the conversation that she sounded subdued.

Before he could ask what she meant, the door to the tavern was thrown open. It hit the wall with a bang that startled the whole room into silence. The woman sitting at the table with him seemed to sit the quietest of all, her eyes frozen on the newcomer. Rumpelstiltskin glanced to where she was looking.

A tall, dark-haired youth stood in the doorway. He wore an elaborate sort of uniform, with a long, flowing cape. He stood very stiffly, one hand on the sword at his belt as he scanned the room.

Rumpelstiltskin looked between the man and the woman he was sitting with and almost instantly found he disliked the boy. He had the look of one of those arrogant youths who would challenge him from time to time.

“My lady!” the man called into the tavern. His voice was loud and sharp, like one used to issuing commands.

The wizard heard a sharp intake of breath. He looked around and saw his companion, a look of dread on her face.  She was watching the man at the door the way most would regard a coming storm.

Before Rumpelstiltskin could ask if she knew the man, she had closed her eyes and was calling across the tavern.

“I’m here.”

Rumpelstiltskin watched as the woman beside him rose from her seat. She paused as she passed him, brushing her hand against his arm, and for just a moment it lingered there.

“It was nice to meet you,” she whispered. There was something sad in her face as she said it.

There was a stomping of boots as the man in the door approached. The woman moved away quickly to intercept him before he reached the table. Rumpelstiltskin watched from the corner of his eye. The man practically dwarfed the woman, yet she spoke to him calmly, unafraid. Rumpelstiltskin could hear their conversation from his seat.

“My lady, you should not be here.”

“I was just having a drink…”

“Your father would not approve.

“My father does not –”

“He is looking for you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You will find out when you see him.”

The man ushered her out then, his face stern while hers was drawn in concern. He cast a glance around the bar, his eyes lingering on the corner where Rumpelstiltskin sat. The wizard stared back calmly until the man looked away. The door creaked closed behind them.

Once they were gone, the chatter returned to the tavern again. More than a few looks were cast his way. Rumpelstiltskin decided it was time to leave. He had not meant to stay in the first place.

As he stood, he noticed the handkerchief the woman had left on the table. He hesitated, aware of the looks on his back as he observed the little article, before reaching out and closing his hand around it.

Then he was gone. A few gasps went out as he vanished from the pub, and the nearest patrons stood up to avoid the cloud of smoke that the wizard left behind.

Rumpelstiltskin reappeared in his tower. It appeared that someone had been there in his absence. Things had been moved in subtle ways that only he would notice, though the overall organization of the place had not changed.

On the table were a potion and a scroll of paper. Rumpelstiltskin picked up the potion, turning it over as he held it to the light. He had never seen anything quite like it.

Bemused, he unfurled the scroll. The words had been written in his own hand. They read:

_Six months. Forward. Too much powder._

Ah. So the potion had sent him six months into the future. But he must have found a way back, and his past self had kindly left the potion and the scroll where he would find it. Now he just needed to use it, go back, perfect the potion, and leave it out again for himself.

It made sense, insofar as these things did.

He was tempted to leave the tower and see what had changed in the last six months, but he knew he could not. It would not do to meddle with time, and he did not belong here. There was too much work to be done for him to lose even a day.

Rumpelstiltskin uncorked the potion and moved to drink it, but a thought struck him. He returned the cork to the bottle and set the potion on the table. He unfolded the handkerchief he had brought with him.

It was wrinkled now, so he smoothed it in his hand. It was good cloth, but not the finest. She had spoken the truth. She was a lady, not a princess. A lady who was not above taking a drink in a bar and making friends with the people she met there. Even him.

She had not asked for his help, even when others might plead for him to grant them their freedom. She cared for her father, though he would not let her live in the manner of her choosing. She was not even afraid to face that arrogant, hulking brute that her father sent after her.

There was a design of a bird in the corner of the handkerchief. Seeing it, Rumpelstiltskin went to the open window. He held the handkerchief in one fist, and when he opened it, a white dove flew out into the sky.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. She would not know him now, if he returned to the past. Magic could be funny that way. It was probably for the best.

He went to the table and took up the potion once more. He uncorked it, took one look at the room around him, and swallowed the potion in one go.

There was a yellow shimmer, the smell of marsh gas, and the wizard vanished from the tower.

He did not see the bird fly across the mountains to a marshy land by the sea. He did not see it alight on the tower of an old castle where a young woman sat reading. He did not see the way it hopped on her hand, tame as any beast could be, when she set her book aside to admire it.

But one year after the day he made his failed potion, six months after he may or may not have met a girl in a tavern, a bird flew through the open window and landed right in the middle of his work table. It stood there, bold as brass, and cooed at him from the remnants of six potions and a handful of soggy straw that had once been gold.

When he tried to shoo it away, the bird only hopped out of reach and looked at the wizard as if to reproach him. Finally, Rumpelstiltskin held out a hand. The bird landed on his finger as if it belonged there.

There was a scroll on its leg. The seal bore the sign of a dove.


End file.
